6
Third Person Pov
The hospital was quiet that morning high white ceilings, soft lights, and the faint scent of antiseptic filling the air. Taehyung held Gyubin's hand firmly as they walked down the corridor, the boy swinging his plushie by one ear, steps small but excited.
Their appointment was already scheduled of course it was. Seokjin's efficiency was woven into every detail of Taehyung's new life, whether he liked it or not.
Inside the pediatric oncology wing, a nurse greeted them with a smile, addressing Gyubin by name. Taehyung's stomach twisted gently. He always hated how familiar these halls had become.
Gyubin climbed onto the exam table without protest, legs dangling as the doctor entered a kind-faced woman in her late forties, clipboard in hand, glasses perched on her nose. Taehyung stood beside the bed, smiling softly to reassure his son.
The checkup was thorough. Blood pressure. Reflexes. Temperature. A few lighthearted questions to keep Gyubin talking while the nurse drew a small vial of blood. Gyubin didn't cry, didn't even flinch. He was used to it now.
Too used to it.
Taehyung's chest ached, but he said nothing.
Once everything was done, the doctor turned to Taehyung with a calm smile, walking him gently through the results.
"His vitals are stable," she said, flipping through the chart. "There's no immediate concern, but he's still immunocompromised. You know the protocol regular hydration, rest, and no exposure to crowded or unclean areas."
Taehyung nodded slowly, absorbing every word, his fingers brushing against Gyubin's hair absentmindedly.
"We'll be assigning a full-time nurse to assist at the house," she added, "as per Mr. Kim Seokjin's instructions. Everything has already been arranged."
Taehyung blinked.
"Oh... really?"
The doctor smiled. "Yes. Mr. Kim has been very clear. He wanted someone gentle with children, familiar with leukemia care, and able to handle at-home emergencies if necessary. She'll start tomorrow."
Taehyung stood silent for a second, caught off guard by the thoughtfulness. Seokjin hadn't mentioned any of this not in detail and yet it was already done.
He looked away for a moment, exhaling softly.
"He seems cold," Taehyung murmured, mostly to himself, "but he's... really thoughtful, isn't he?"
The doctor didn't comment, but her smile deepened slightly.
Taehyung turned to Gyubin, who was now seated upright, playing with the tongue depressor like it was a toy.
He crouched beside him, brushing the strands from his son's forehead. "See?" he whispered. "We're going to be just fine."
Gyubin nodded and gave him a sleepy smile.
After Gyubin's appointment, the nurse guided Taehyung down another corridor, this one quieter tucked between departments. She led him into a small treatment room with pale blue walls and the faint scent of clean linen, asking gently, "Let's take a look at your finger, Mr. Kim."
Taehyung gave a small nod and followed her in, Gyubin staying close behind him.
He sat down and extended his hand without a word. The nurse unwrapped the loose bandage he had tied himself in the morning revealing the swollen, angry skin underneath. The imprint from the ring had dug deep, raw against his pale finger.
"You shouldn't wear anything that tight again," she murmured kindly, inspecting it under the white light. "This might bruise for a few days. You've torn the surface a little not serious, but irritating enough to sting."
Taehyung only nodded, watching silently. The sting wasn't new.
She reached for the antiseptic and began cleaning the area, dabbing with practiced care. "This will need to be dressed for at least a day or two. Try not to bend the joint too much. Keep it dry."
He didn't flinch, even when the chemical burned. His expression didn't change.
As she wrapped a clean gauze over the finger, she added with quiet honesty, "If it hurt that much to wear, maybe it wasn't meant to fit."
Taehyung's gaze flickered downward.He didn't answer. Because deep down, he knew the ring was never meant to fit. Not his finger. Not his life. Not his heart.
It was a symbol of something binding, something cold. A polished silver cage that no one saw but him. He hadn't been asked what he wanted. Just handed a role, wrapped in silence and expectation.
The nurse gave him a warm smile as she finished. "There you go," she said gently. "Try to keep this on until tomorrow."
Taehyung thanked her quietly and turned to Gyubin, who was already at the door. The boy smiled up at him, eyes bright despite the sterile halls.
Taehyung reached out and took his hand, the bandaged finger now resting against his son's tiny palm.
"Let's go home," he said softly.
They exited the room, stepping back into the corridor lined with low voices, nurses passing with charts, and soft-soled shoes whispering across the tiles. Everything felt muted. Controlled.
But then the atmosphere changed.
A man, shapr eyes and impatient, in a navy suit, came striding down the hallway from the opposite end. His pace was hurried, too fast for a hospital, and far too careless for a pediatric wing.
Taehyung registered it too late.
The man passed between them and the wall without pausing brushing past Gyubin hard enough that the child stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Binnie-!" Taehyung gasped.
He reached out instinctively and caught Gyubin around the waist before he could hit the ground, the bunny plush thudding softly against the floor.
Gyubin clung to him, startled, small hands shaking.
The man turned back, clearly annoyed. "Maybe keep your child out of the hallway. It's not a daycare."
Taehyung froze.
He looked down at Gyubin, who was breathing unevenly, lips trembling, eyes wide with fear and confusion. He wasn't crying not yet but it was close. His little chest heaved as he clung tighter to Taehyung's shirt.
Taehyung slowly stood upright, jaw tightening.
"I'm sorry?" he said, voice quiet, but clipped. "He was walking beside me. You didn't even slow down."
The man scoffed. "It's a hospital, not a playground. Watch him better."
"He's seven," Taehyung said sharply. "And this is the pediatric wing. What exactly did you expect to find here??"
The man's expression twisted in irritation. "I don't have time for-"
"Then keep walking," Taehyung cut in, stepping forward. "But next time, mind your pace. Children aren't invisible."
Gyubin buried his face in Taehyung's side, holding tightly.
Taehyung looked down briefly, soothing the child with a hand across his back, then lifted his gaze again not aggressive, but protective. The kind of stare that said this ends here.
The man narrowed his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and finally turned away, continuing down the hall without another word.
Only then did Taehyung kneel beside Gyubin, brushing the tears from under his lashes.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently.
Gyubin nodded but kept his eyes on the floor, his voice small. "I didn't do anything..."
Taehyung's hand curled gently around his nape. "It's okay. I know you didn't do anything wrong."
Gyubin looked up with glassy eyes.
Taehyung leaned forward and kissed his temple.
The boy threw his arms around him, and Taehyung held him tightly, shutting his eyes for a moment. The world could shove him down as many times as it wanted strip him of his pride, his freedom, his comfort but the second someone hurt his child?
He would never stay silent.
.
.
.
By the time Taehyung returned to the estate, the sun had already begun to sink, spilling orange light across the marble floors like fading warmth. The car ride home had been quiet Gyubin dozing lightly, Taehyung staring out the window, lost in thoughts he didn't have the energy to unpack.
The day had drained him emotionally, physically, completely.
He opened the door to their room and stepped inside, guiding Gyubin by the hand. The soft lights flickered on, casting the space in a warm, golden hue. It was still unfamiliar, still too polished to feel like home, but at least it was quiet. At least they were alone.
Taehyung sat down on the edge of the bed with a soft exhale, rolling his shoulders once to ease the ache.
And then, without a word, Gyubin climbed up beside him and curled into his lap, pressing his small face into Taehyung's stomach like he was returning to a place of safety.
"I'm tired..." Gyubin mumbled, voice muffled by fabric, his little fingers curling into his father's shirt.
Taehyung smiled faintly and rested a hand on the back of his son's head, stroking the soft curls gently.
"I know, sweetheart," he murmured. "You've had a long day."
Gyubin didn't respond. He just breathed slow, warm, and steady against Taehyung's stomach. His bunny lay abandoned on the blanket, half-tucked beneath his arm.
"Don't you want dinner?" Taehyung asked quietly after a pause, brushing a curl away from his boy's forehead.
Gyubin shook his head without lifting it.
Taehyung chuckled softly under his breath. "You'll be hungry in the middle of the night..."
But Gyubin didn't move. His small body had already gone limp, warmth sinking into Taehyung's lap like an anchor. His breathing slowed further, evening out.
Taehyung leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes as his hand continued to run slowly through Gyubin's hair. The silence of the room felt heavier now not suffocating, but still. Still enough to hold the ache in his chest.
He didn't even notice when sleep began to blur the edge of his thoughts. All he knew was the weight of his son against him. And for tonight that was enough.
.
.
It was well past midnight when the knock came.
Taehyung stirred, his lashes fluttering open in the dimness. For a moment, he didn't move disoriented by the quiet.
The room was nearly dark, lit only by the faint silver glow of the moon slipping through the open window. The breeze barely stirred the curtains, and everything outside was swallowed in shadow.
His eyes dropped immediately to the boy curled against him.
Gyubin lay beside him now, one small hand tucked under his cheek, face soft in sleep.
Taehyung gently shifted his son off his lap and onto the mattress, careful not to wake him.
He pulled the blanket up to Gyubin's shoulders, letting his palm linger briefly over the small chest that rose and fell so gently.
Then he stood, straightening his wrinkled shirt. The knock came again just once this time. Taehyung moved to the door and opened it quietly.
Standing just outside was Mr. Haenam, calm as always, hands clasped behind his back.
"Mr. Jeon would like to see you," he said in his low, impassive tone. "Now."
Taehyung blinked slowly, pulse tightening. "Is it... urgent?" he asked, voice hushed.
But Mr. Haenam only gave a polite incline of his head the kind that answered everything and nothing all at once and then turned to walk away.
Taehyung hesitated at the threshold.
He glanced back into the room. Gyubin's chest still rose and fell in the stillness of sleep. The quiet innocence of it made him smile lightly.
He exhaled softly, stepping out.
Closing the door behind him with care, Taehyung padded silently through the hallway, the wooden floors cold beneath his feet. The estate was hushed too large, too empty at this hour and the silence echoed around him like a warning.
He climbed the staircase slowly, trailing his fingers along the banister as if grounding himself. The farther he walked, the heavier the air felt. Every step toward Jungkook's private wing made his chest tighten just a little more.
By the time he reached the final corridor that quiet, dim stretch that led to the CEO's bedroom Taehyung's heart was beating steadily in his throat.
He stood outside the tall double doors, eyes fixed on the polished brass handles.
There was no sound from within.
No flicker of light under the door.
Only stillness. Why now? he wondered.
But there was no point in asking.
Not here. Not in this house. Not with a man like Jungkook.
He raised a trembling hand and knocked.
The door creaked open with the softest groan, barely louder than Taehyung's heartbeat.
Hee stepped inside.
The room was dim and silent the curtains drawn, save for one narrow slit where moonlight broke through like a blade across the floor.
The scent of aged whiskey hung heavy in the air, sharp and suffocating.
A small lamp glowed faintly in the corner, casting long shadows over the expensive wood furniture.
And then there he was.
Seated in a deep leather chair by the window, ankle crossed over his knee, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand. The light caught on the rim of the crystal, glittering like something wicked.
He didn't look up at first.
Didn't acknowledge Taehyung at all as if the very act of summoning him didn't warrant his attention.
Only when Taehyung shifted awkwardly on his feet, about to say something, did Jungkook speak.
"Lock the door."
The tone was casual. Unbothered. But it cut clean through the room like a command meant to be followed without question.
Taehyung froze for a beat. Then he turned without speaking and locked it -l the click of the mechanism sounding far louder than it should in the silence.
When he faced the room again, he saw Jungkook's eyes on him at last. Calm. Cold. Detached.
Two fingers lifted lazily from the armrest a gesture, a summons.
Come here.
Taehyung's feet moved before his brain caught up. Slow, careful steps. The air grew heavier the closer he came, like it was pressing down on his chest with invisible hands.
When he stood just within arm's reach, Jungkook let his gaze roam over him, from the top of his head down to the hem of his shirt, pausing deliberately at the disheveled fabric, the tired eyes, the way Taehyung's hands fidgeted at his sides.
"Turn around."
Taehyung's pulse faltered.
He hesitated not because he didn't hear it, but because something about that simple request made his stomach twist.
Still, he turned. Slowly. Mechanically. Like a doll being adjusted on display.
He faced the cold wall, the silent bookshelf. He stared at nothing as his fists clenched tighter. He could hear the ice shifting in Jungkook's glass again. Could hear the sip, the slow exhale.
"Hmm."
It was a hum of amusement. Or maybe disappointment. Taehyung wasn't sure anymore.
Footsteps approached behind him soft but unhurried. The sound of leather soles on polished flooring. Each one landing heavier in his chest than in the room itself.
And then Jungkook's voice came low, right near his ear:
"You look like a good pet."
Taehyung flinched just slightly. But he didn't reply. Because he knew better. Any answer would be the wrong one.
"You deserve something," Jungkook murmured next, stepping away again. He placed the glass down with a muted thud, then pulled open a drawer from the cabinet nearby.
Taehyung turned his head just enough to look not fully. Just enough to see. And what he saw made his heart twist in quiet horror.
A slim, black strip of leather. Thick enough to be unmistakable. Not just a collar a leash. Beautifully made. Sleek, minimal. Almost like a choker. The kind someone rich would use to make obedience look elegant.
Jungkook held it loosely in his hand, the silver clasp catching the light. "Wear it."
Taehyung's throat tightened.
"No," he said softly, before he even realized it had left his mouth. "I... I can't wear this."
Jungkook raised a brow, as if amused by the fact that Taehyung thought his opinion mattered.
"Last I checked," he said coolly, "you don't have a say in anything."
The way he said it not cruelly, not loudly, but with the same tone one might use to remind a servant to remove their shoes made it worse. Made it feel final.
Taehyung stared at the collar. His fingers trembled. Not out of fear not entirely. But out of the sheer helplessness that was now becoming familiar.
He wasn't a man here. He was property. A role. A body dressed in quiet obedience..
He reached out. And took it.
The leather was cool in his hand. Smooth. Designed to be worn without discomfort only shame.
He didn't look at Jungkook. Didn't ask why. Because he already knew.
This wasn't about pleasure. Or aesthetics. This was about power.
And Jungkook needed to remind him where he stood.
Taehyung lowered his gaze and, with slow fingers, unclasped the collar. His hands moved stiffly as he brought it up to his throat.
As he locked it in place with a soft click, something in him went quiet.
Like a door being closed inside his chest.
A moment passed.
sound of his polished shoes on the hardwood felt like a countdown. Taehyung's breath caught in his throat as the man's fingers reached out, cold and deliberate, brushing against the delicate skin of his neck.
He flinched. Not dramatically just enough. Just enough for Jungkook to notice.
A small smirk tugged faintly at the corner of the CEO's lips as his fingers curled around the thin leather collar and gave it a small, possessive tug. Not violent. But firm.
Taehyung felt it the sharp reminder.
This wasn't decoration. It was restraint.
He instinctively moved back, just half a step only to be yanked to stillness by the leash, the leather pressing into the back of his neck like a whisper of mockery.
"You're shaking," Jungkook noted, voice smooth with contempt. "Over a little touch?"
Taehyung's jaw tightened. He lowered his gaze, refusing to meet the man's eyes.
But Jungkook didn't let the silence sit.
"I'm your husband." he said, voice dropping lower. "You're supposed to let me touch. That's what you signed up for."
Taehyung didn't reply. His fist clenched.
His throat was locked tight, filled with the bitter taste of shame and restraint. Every nerve in his body was buzzing with fury and helplessness. He could feel his own heartbeat hammering against the collar.
Jungkook turned away, slow and casual, as if the moment hadn't meant anything to him. He reached for the low table and picked up his drink again, swirling the liquid with idle fingers. His gaze flicked lazily back toward Taehyung still standing, still visibly resisting.
"You look ridiculous standing there like that," he muttered, half amused, half bored. "Get on your knees."
Taehyung's head snapped up eyes wide, stunned. The humiliation hit him like a slap.
"I-"
"Quick."
That one word, delivered with cold authority, sent a chill down his spine.
Taehyung's hands shook. His breathing faltered. But slowly, as if every movement cost him something, he bent his knees. Lowered himself down. First to a crouch, then to the floor.
The coldness of it seeped through the fabric of his pants. He kept his gaze down until he heard the next instruction.
"Eyes up."
It wasn't shouted. Just said. With the kind of tone that left no room for refusal.
Taehyung lifted his eyes.
And met Jungkook's gaze.
The CEO stood tall, dark, and detached his silhouette framed by the low lamp behind him. He looked at Taehyung like one might look at something they'd purchased but had yet to decide if it was worth keeping.
"This," Jungkook said, swirling his glass again, "is exactly where you belong."
The words landed with brutal precision.
He sat there, silent and trembling, the collar tight around his throat, and something inside him cracking a little deeper.
He had never felt smaller. But somewhere behind that silence far behind the humiliation, the rage, the quiet ache something in him refused to break.
Taehyung tried to steady his breath, but his heart was racing loud in his ears, deafening in the stillness.
Jungkook never moved away.
Not even by an inch.
One hand gripped Taehyung's jaw with a cruel stillness, while the other casually held the half-filled glass of amber liquor, the rim glinting dully under the lamplight. The scent of the drink bitter and aged mixed with the soft spice of Jungkook's cologne, suffocating.
Taehyung's skin prickled under the closeness. Jungkook's face was right there too close, too calm. There was no hatred in Jungkook's eyes.
"Do you know what you are to me?" Jungkook murmured, his breath brushing Taehyung's cheek.
Taehyung didn't answer. Didn't dare to. He simply shook his head. Eyes still locked with the CEO's.
"My least valuable asset."
The words struck colder than the air around them.
Taehyung blinked slowly, chest rising as he tried to stay composed but his stomach twisted. The leash, the collar, his knees on the floor everything suddenly felt tighter. Smaller. Like the walls of the room were folding in on him.
"One year," he said quietly. "One year under this roof. One year in my name. And I'll make sure you're ruined so thoroughly, so deeply, that you won't recognize yourself when you leave."
Taehyung's breath hitched. His body went rigid. His mouth parted and this time, he couldn't hold it back.
"Why...?"
It slipped out barely above a whisper. Fragile. Human.
"What have I done to be treated like this?" he asked, voice cracking, disbelief swimming behind his eyes. "What did I do to deserve this?"
Just a whisper. A threadbare breath clinging to whatever was left of his dignity.
His lashes fluttered, trying to blink away the heat behind his eyes. "Why are you treating me like this?"
There was no accusation in his tone. Only confusion. Pain. Like a man still hoping there was sense in this somewhere.
But Jungkook didn't even blink.
He stood tall above him, glass in hand, and looked down at Taehyung like someone staring at a dust-covered photograph they never wanted to keep.
Unfeeling. Unbothered. Uninterested.
"You're asking the wrong questions," Jungkook said quietly. His voice didn't waver didn't rise or falter.
"You want to know why?"
Taehyung looked up slowly, eyes glistening. Jungkook stared down.
"Because you are something I never asked for," he said flatly. "You showed up in my life like a glitch I didn't approve. And now I'm forced to deal with you."
He took a sip of the drink calm, smooth, the ice clinking softly against the glass.
Taehyung didn't move. His spine stiffened, lips parted slightly in disbelief, but he couldn't find words.
Jungkook didn't care.
"And now," he said, tilting his wrist without warning, without expression,
he poured the drink onto Taehyung's head.
It was ice cold. The alcohol soaked into his hair, trailed down his temples, over his collarbone, sliding beneath his shirt like a brand. Taehyung flinched, gasped softly but didn't lift his hands to stop it.
Because Jungkook wasn't looking for a reaction. He didn't even watch it drip.
He just stepped back, placed the empty glass on the side table with the same care he'd use for a file, and met Taehyung's stunned eyes with indifference.
"Now," Jungkook said, voice low, detached. "Maybe you'll finally look like what you really are."
He cocked his head slightly, scanning Taehyung's soaked figure like he was beneath evaluation.
"A stray someone dressed up and shoved into my life."
Taehyung swallowed hard, jaw trembling but stayed still. Taehyung wiped his face, eyes teary, but his back straight.
"Only for my son," he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper but it reached Jungkook.
The man raised a brow, lazily, as if the words mildly interrupted his thoughts.
"I didn't want to come here either," Taehyung continued, firmer this time, swallowing hard as his voice trembled. "Didn't even know anything about you. Just that you were rich enough. That was all I-I needed."
He could feel his nails digging into his palms, fighting to keep his voice steady.
"But seeing this-seeing you-"
He stopped himself. Bit his tongue. The humiliation soaked deeper than the liquor clinging to his skin, and yet his mouth kept moving.
"You don't have to worry. Once I leave, I won't ever look back." He lifted his chin slightly. "Just a year. That's all."
His gaze lingered on Jungkook's face, searching hoping for even a flicker of reaction. Some proof that his words meant anything at all.
But Jungkook didn't respond. It was like speaking to a wall of ice. The only thing that stirred was the faint curl of smoke rising from the cigar in his hand.
Taehyung's stomach twisted.
Because silence, in that moment, said more than words ever could.
There was nothing in Jungkook's eyes. No curiosity. No irritation. Not even scorn. Just... boredom. As if everything Taehyung had just said passed through him like wind barely worth registering.
And that somehow hurt more than being mocked. More than being humiliated.
He turned his face away, lips pressed tightly together, blinking fast to keep the tears from spilling.
Then....The room was silent again.
Not peaceful. Suffocating.
Jungkook leaned against the edge of the polished side table, cigar in hand, eyes fixed on the man dripping in front of him.
The smoke curled slowly between them, swirling into the silence like a noose.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Time stretched long when you were being watched. Taehyung's clothes were damp and freezing, but he didn't move. His fingers twitched slightly, but his face remained carved in stone.
He wouldn't give Jungkook the reaction he wanted. Not here. Not while his back was still straight.
Jungkook finally took the cigar from his mouth and exhaled.
"Don't just sit there dripping like a fool," he said, voice sharp, cutting clean through the air. "Move a little and wipe the floor unless you want the staff to come in and see how disgusting you really look."
Taehyung's jaw clenched. His fists curled.
Slowly, the soaked fabric dragged against his skin as he stood, heavy with humiliation. His breath stilled when he turned toward the door, each step silent but soaked with tension. He reached for the handle, about to step out.
Then
"Use that shirt of yours."
Jungkook didn't even look up. He just tapped the ash off the end of his cigar into the glass tray beside him.
Taehyung froze. His fingers halted at the door handle. He turned back, wide eyes catching Jungkook's just for a second as if needing to confirm that he heard right. That Jungkook really intended for him to mop the floor with the shirt he was wearing.
"N-no... I'll get the mop," Taehyung said tightly, breath short.
Jungkook finally glanced up. His expression was flat. Silent. Challenging.
Taehyung swallowed hard and stepped out quickly, the door shutting behind him.
The moment it clicked shut the moment he was out of that suffocating room his shoulders buckled. He sucked in a sharp breath, arms wrapping around himself as he leaned against the wall. His chest heaved once, and then.silently, bitterly the tears spilled.
He hated how the scent of cigar smoke and alcohol clung to his skin. He hated the sting in his throat, the burn in his eyes, the sheer coldness that Jungkook wrapped around him like a collar of its own.
He inhaled shakily
"Taehyung-ssi."
The voice was soft. Taehyung looked up, startled.
Mr. Haenam stood just a few feet away quiet as always, hands behind his back. But this time, he held something.
A mop. No questions. No pity. Just silent understanding.
Taehyung nodded once, lips pressed tightly together, and stepped forward. He took the mop without a word, not trusting himself to speak. His fingers trembled as they grasped it.
Mr. Haenam gave him a faint, respectful nod and walked away.
Taehyung stood alone in the hallway for a second longer, letting the last of his tears fall.
Then he wiped his face with his sleeve, gripped the mop tightly, and walked back into that room dignity cracked, but still not broken.
The marble floor gleamed beneath the soft light by the time Taehyung finished. His knees ached, joints stiff and protesting from crouching too long in his wet clothes. Every motion of the mop felt like another fracture in his already cracked dignity.
And behind him, the silence pressed down like a weight-Jungkook's unblinking gaze, cold and uninterested, burned into his back.
When he was done, Taehyung rose without a word. His steps were heavy, dragging through the quiet as he leaned the mop just outside the door.
He didn't glance at Jungkook, didn't ask for permission to leave he already knew the rules. The cage was tight, and rattling it only made the bars sharper.
Taehyung barely crossed the threshold before Jungkook pushed off the table and moved toward him. Just that suffocating silence trailing like a dark cloak.
Taehyung froze as Jungkook stopped inches away. Without a word, Jungkook's hand lifted and lightly brushed against Taehyung's wrist.
A touch so slight it could have been imagined but Taehyung recoiled immediately, pulling back as though the contact had burned his skin. His chest tightened painfully, a dry breath escaping his lips.
Disgust arising in his heart by the small touch.
He shoved his hands behind him, trying to hide the sting left by the alcohol, the humiliation, and the man himself.
Jungkook said nothing but he was amused by Taehyunh's resistance.
Taehyung parted his lips, perhaps to apologize or to plead for release, when a small voice broke through the thick tension.
"Appa?"
His entire body froze. That voice it cracked steel. It pulled him back from the edge without effort.
Slowly, Taehyung turned his head.
There, just beyond the cracked door in the hallway, stood a small figure. Barefoot and clad in soft pajamas, clutching a plush bunny. Gyubin blinked sleepily, his curls tousled, eyes heavy and confused. One hand rubbed at his face, the other gripped the bunny's ear like a lifeline.
Without thinking, Taehyung moved, stepping past Jungkook and instinctively shielding the doorway with his body.
Jungkook's eyes followed silently, but he said nothing.
The door shut quietly behind Taehyung.
He crouched immediately, brushing a hand gently over Gyubin's head. The boy looked okay just disoriented but Taehyung's heart thundered fiercely.
"Binnie..." he breathed softly. "You're supposed to be asleep."
Gyubin looked up, voice small. "I... I woke up. You weren't there."
The boy's lip trembled slightly. Taehyung reached out and took his hand warm, small, and real.
He squeezed it gently and managed a smile, even though the sting in his chest hadn't eased. "Appa's right here now."
Gyubin's gaze lingered, curious and innocent.
"...Appa, what are you wearing on your neck?"
Taehyung froze.
His hand rose instinctively to the leather collar still fastened tight around his throat. The cold metal clasp pressed against his fingers like a secret weight he knew it had been seen.
His eyes dropped, shame and resignation pooling there.
A moment passed. Then he glanced back over his shoulder toward the closed door-the place where Jungkook waited.
"...Nothing," he said softly.
"It's just... a silly thing."
Gyubin tilted his head in confusion but said no more. Instead, he stepped closer and pressed his small body against Taehyung's side, wrapping his arms around his waist.
Taehyung exhaled slowly, the tight knot inside loosening just a fraction. He stroked his son's hair, steadying himself on the only thing in this place that felt genuine.
Taehyung stood again, gripping Gyubin's hand tightly in his own. He didn't look back. Didn't give Jungkook the satisfaction of one last glance.
He walked down the hall, slow and quiet, shirt still clinging to his back, collar still suffocating his throat